2019-10-30 - Lion Recovered

The night was already long and considering Byron Thorne's state when they finally retrieved him, it's about to get longer still.

Erin's landscaping is coming along nicely, a thought that comes to her in the kind of absent, tangential way that other observations tended to be treated while she's in the midst of thinking through a problem, and the one lying before her is a relatively complicated one. In all of her life, Isabella has never heard of a parasitic house before, or at least one with a will of its own that has somehow attached itself to a very distressingly human obsession with its target. She had left her fellow brunette in the spare room her childhood friend had been parked in, electing to stay out of the way as the Addington heiress burned the cocktail of chemicals from Byron's veins; her phone is in her hand as a shoulder leans against one of the walls, toying with the device as she watches white-blue moonlight attempt to permeate the thick film of fog blanketing the property's impressive manicured lawn.

Her texts to Lilith remain not just unanswered but unread, and she checks it occasionally, her face illuminated faintly by her screen. Her frown is visible, playing against light and shadow. Her thumbs move to type out a message:

Lil, we got him, but I don't think it's over.

She pauses, the edges of her teeth depressing into her lower lip, drawing blood and color against the surface.

I saw something while we were leaving and...

Her mind drifts back to Amelia Birchwood's face, wondering and pleased, beautiful and wide-eyed, those luminous irises looking up at her as if in a daze and her pretty face framed by dark locks of her hair. Alexander had mentioned another, too; Olivia Marchand and now that she keeps remembering the influenced young woman's porcelain features, she can't help but wonder what the other one looks like.

...don't come to the house. It could be nothing, but stay far away from it right now. We're at Erin's. He'll be alright, I think.

She can't help but be worried, too. Where is she?

Despite the shocking witness of the full extent of Alexander's lightning abilities, she doesn't seem worse for wear; her hair is not poofy anymore, having managed to comb it back with her fingers and leave it in its tousled state down her back, and save for the redness over one set of knuckles, she doesn't look at all hampered by whatever electric injuries she's sustained. If nothing else, the fight and the scare seem to have only put fire and adrenaline in her blood, intensifying her already relentless, restless energy. The only reason why she isn't pacing around as she waits for Erin to finish treating Byron is the fact that she's worried about Lilith, also, fiddling with the smart device in her hand in an effort to bleed off the energy there.

Alexander is pacing. Alexander always pacing, though, so that seems about normal for him. That focused coldness left him the moment Byron was safely out of the house and into someone's car, but he remained mostly silent on the drive. Now, he's been mostly silent as they wait for Erin to finish her treatment. Even his usual restless curiosity is dampened - aside from a single sweep of the rooms they passed, as if for ambushers, his gaze has been turned inward, lost in his own thoughts as he wanders. Until, suddenly, he appears in front of Isabella. He stares at her for a long moment.

Then, unless she dodges or stops him, he sweeps her up in a fierce hug, that's as much irritation as relief; that dangerous cocktail you get when something insanely dangerous somehow happened with only minor injuries. He buries his face against her neck and growls something roughly like, "Don't you ever do that again," with "I could have killed you," for good measure. And a hard shake of her in his arms.

When Alexander paces, the rest of the room carries it; he may not feel like he's worthy of his name and the reputation of the most infamous figure who carried it, but there are times that reflect those conqueror's tendencies, however rare they are. Green-and-gold eyes lift when footfalls and a new shadow appear in her space, blinking once. His stare has her lips parting, her arm lowering to her side. "Alexa-- "

He doesn't give her the time and those striking irises widen when he suddenly engulfs her in the ferocity of his embrace, and the intensity of his relief and ire does nothing to stamp out the already volatile cocktail raging in her system - of seeing him rain down a lightning storm with August's help, eradicating their enemies in a flash of light while dressed the way he is - and her standing in the middle of it, high on bluster and bravado, fears only escalating the foolhardy nature of her courage, her hair standing on end and scenting ozone in the air before forks of energy split the darkness and sting her. He is right, he could have killed her, but instead of being terrified, that gamble wrought from a mistaken prediction only (and perhaps worrisomely) takes on the opposite effect, for she never feels more alive than when she's about to die.

It leaves her arms around him, nails raking across the line of his broad shoulders carved in the fine, black weave of his tuxedo jacket. She can still scent the storm he had brought to bear on his skin, hair and clothes. "I thought you were going to go another way," she whispers, her voice low, passionate and ferocious. "I've never seen you do that before. We've never fought together before. You..." He shakes her, but she is uncaring, drawing him back in tightly if she can, her mouth finding his and searing her restless kiss into the curve of it, and she doesn't let go of him for a while, entwining herself further with him in the darkness of Erin's living room. Her phone drops, forgotten, somewhere on the floor.

Alexander returns the kiss; he's never not, and may be incapable of refusing the passion of that contact from the woman, with the tantalizing feel of her mind in all its storm-tossed glory. But there's no sensuality to this kiss, not for him; it's how he reassures himself that she's alive and mostly unhurt, and he didn't kill her. He tries to erase the image of her in the center of the shadowmasks, in the center of the lightning he'd called and then failed to control as much as he should have. He stays entwined with her, but quiet, and it doesn't take a mind-reader to feel his self-recriminations battering at his internal self.

Eventually, he does put a little space between them, so that he can stalk around, again, his expression grim. "I could have killed you. I could have killed Thorne. I wasn't thinking--" he stops, because that's not true. He was thinking, but not about collateral damage. Not really. Something hurt someone he values, for whatever reason he values Byron, and so he wanted to destroy them. So he did. He's still not sure if any of them were human. He shies away from thinking about it, and thinking about how he didn't really care. His eyes drift towards the door. "Do you think he'll be okay? I don't know what they were going to do with him. Fucking chanting. Who chants?"

When he starts stalking around again, Isabella draws her scarlet skirt to one side, sweeping up her phone and checking the messages there, her lips pressing together when they remain unanswered. Worries are evident, but these are ones that she attempts to cast aside for now as she tucks it in the place it's meant to and leans back against the wall towards the wide windows. The lidded cast to her green-and-gold stare follows the wake of his movements in the room, his long, dark shadow strafing over the tasteful decor, but she says very little else - a serious effort levied towards calming her excited-terrified nerves and the heady effects of a near-miss and the dangerous situation that occurred very recently.

His words are both expected and familiar, if not just because she has a similar tendency not to care about collateral damage and who she hurts, what she destroys, so long as it keeps her people close to her - for all of their glaring differences, there are a few volatile areas in which they overlap and this is one of them. These days, he knows the extent of what she has paid for the mindless and overconfident use of her power.

"That was on me," she reminds him firmly. "I didn't predict you accurately - I hoped to be a distraction because I thought you were going to dive in, not act out and I was wrong. Better I pay for that now than never learn the lesson. And I think if Byron had a choice between a risky rescue and guaranteed servitude to a place he's not overly fond of, he would pick the former over the latter any day." She sighs and winds her fingers around the gleaming pendant around her neck. "Though maybe exercise more caution when August, Erin, Lilith or any other healer decides to give you a boost."

Following his eyes to the door, she nods. "I think he'll be alright, though he's going to have a lot of questions when he wakes up and reclaims his wits. As for what they're going to do with him? I don't know. If you're right about the house manifesting a will of its own - and one strong enough to have agents." Her mind flashes back to Amelia again, with her big blue eyes and pretty face framed by coils of dark hair. "They might've been trying to bind him to the house somehow, force him to have a stronger connection to it."

To allow him to rest comfortably in his unconscious state, the golden lion mask was removed as was the heavy velvet cloak. Whatever the agents of Thorne House had drugged Byron with, he was in a very deep slumber. The effects of being caught up in that chain of electricity was mostly healed by August, luckily for Byron, he had't felt a thing. His breathing is stable and the room in which he and Erin in is quiet for the time being.

Remaining in the master bedroom, simply because there was more room there, Erin had Byron put there. She was in a settee in the room keeping watch over him. August had healed him and she was intent on keeping an eye out for him. Once she'd gotten her own wits about her, after seeing Byron's father like that, just before cutting his head off, she knew she couldn't do a healing justice until she was capable of concentrating. Finally, she's no longer shaking and she'd used her dressing room to change out of her costume. Now she was wearing one of her usual dresses, but her feet were bare. She walks over and kneels beside the bed, reaching for Byron's hand and closing both of hers around it. "I don't know who those people are, but I'm sorry we didn't protect you." She has to give the apology before he wakes, she has a sneaking suspicion he'd argue with her about it otherwise.

The bedroom door is left open for the others so they can come in and out at will and check on him.

"I don't expect you to predict me," Alexander grouses to Isabella in the living room. "I expect you not to run into a mob of enemies armed with nothing but a baseball bat and your admittedly devastating ferocity." He looks uncomfortable about the idea of Byron's questions when he awakens. It does, however, give a focus to his aimless roving, and he heads for the bedroom door, pushing it open and walking into the bedroom. "You okay?" he asks Erin, gruffly, giving her a once over before his eyes turn to Byron. Frowning at the younger man as if that will make him wake up any faster.

It's been a few hours since Byron was drugged so the potency of the medication administered into his system slowly begins to fade. The voices that he hears are louder now, though they still sound slightly muffled. At least it's no longer someone chanting in his ear. If he stirs, it's a subtle movement of his arm at first.

Alexander makes an apologetic grimace at Erin for interrupting, and having reassured himself that Byron hadn't somehow died or been kidnapped again in the time that Alexander did not have his eyes directly on the guy, starts to retreat back to the living room and out of the way. But as he turns, he notices that subtle movement of his arm. He freezes, and approaches the foot of the bed, standing with arms crossed, still waaaaay overdressed in his tux. "Byron?" he says, quietly, watching for further signs of consciousness.

"You're welcome in here, Alexander. I know you're worried about him." Erin's voice is low, but there's a reason she had taken his hand. She just wanted the contact. Holding it tenderly in her own hands, cradling it there, she ducks her head down and presses her forehead there gently. There are no weird chants from her or anything, just concentration. She wants to draw the poison out, or whatever it was they had drugged him with, and she levels her breathing before making the attempt. After a moment or five she lifts her head, "Byron," she joins in the encouragement from Alexander, still holding his hand. It's a friendship thing, nothing forward or anything.

Byron

Someone was talking to him. Calling out his name. In his mind, he could see those golden masks with the black eyes and blank faces-- the costumes that he'd chosen for his assistants during the festivities. One of them just spoke his name. Byron. Then another.

For a time, his head was swimming and he was fighting to wake up. His eyes even open for a moment, staring out with a dull, glassy gaze. Then something happens. He could feel his senses returning to him, the sedative being removed from his body. It was an odd sensation, just like with any sort of glimmer healing.

He was in a room, but he couldn't tell what room this was. There's a bout of disorientation that he'll still need to fight, but his eyes narrow into a squint as he turns his head to the side, letting out an uncomfortable groan. "Where..."

There's a sidelong look at Erin at the idea that he's worried about Byron, but Alexander doesn't actually deny it or anything. He just watches the healing with his eyes slightly narrowed, relaxing as it takes hold and Byron starts to stir. A quick word into the other room to let Isabella know that he was waking up, and then he's back. "You're at Erin's home, Thorne. There was a bit of an incident at the opening ceremonies, but you're safe now." His voice even, almost toneless.

There's the sound of a key turning in the lock, at the front door. A voice too, familiar. Captain de la Vega, informing the occupants that, "I'm coming in, don't fucking shoot." Because it's been that kind of week, apparently. The door's shut after him and he shoves the keys back into his jacket pocket, and ambles on through toward the spare bedroom, where he assumes Byron's been set up. The man's clearly gone home to change before coming here; instead of the gunslinger costume, he's in his usual combination of ratty tee shirt and dark jeans, with a leather jacket and baseball cap thrown over top.

As much as Erin wants to start questions, it's not her place for that. Instead, she just keeps herself there as his caretaker for the moment, kneeling there by her bed where he is in. As he stirs then finally wakes though, she releases his hand and smiles, dark eyes watching him carefully for anything, any side effects, anything lingering. As soon as Alexander tells him where he is, she waggles her brows playfully, but she gets up from the floor beside the bed and moves to stand nearby, giving Alexander the place closest to the bed.

They are actually in Erin's room for more space and when she hears the familiar voice she turns towards the door, smiling a welcome. "He is just waking up. Come on in."

Erin's home?

"The last thing I remembered," Byron starts, already struggling to try and sit upright. One of his hands reaches to cover his forehead, his eyes closing for a moment, "I was giving a... speech that I'd memorized." Though he's having a difficult time remembering it at the moment. There's this point of panic now, but probably not for what others would expect. He shifts to swing his legs to the side so that his feet touch the ground, "What happened to the festival? Is it still on?"

Alexander makes no move to take the position by the bed, and he tenses when someone calls out from the other room, relaxing only when he recognizes Ruiz's voice. And then tensing again when Byron starts to sit up. A huff of exasperation. "The festival is still on. Stalked by phantom apparitions, and I think there were dead people in the parade, but for Gray Harbor? Trucking along pretty well. You may need to text your assistant to let them know you're not dead. But otherwise, things continue and things are fine." He frowns, and his voice softens, fractionally. "How are you feeling?"

The captain's sturdy silhouette appears in the doorway briefly, along with a sliver of illumination granted by his phone. Which he appears to be in the midst of sending a message from. An amusing message, if the dimpled grin teasing the corners of his mouth and eyes is any indication. The phone's shoved away eventually, and Byron swinging his legs off the edge of the bed drags his attention to the other man. He remains a silent observer for the time being, though steps in close to Erin and touches her back, and speaks a few quiet words.

Informed that Byron's awake, Isabella nods distractedly whenever Alexander informs her in the living room, though she's still toying with her phone and glaring at the unread texts that she has sent - as if willing the receiver to respond. When that doesn't happen, there's a frown towards the front door, fighting down the certain temptation to simply take her keys and go out driving in the mist.

She's clearly not done being reckless today!

After a few more minutes of waiting, and glowering, at her screen, she manages to quell a frustrated noise, shoving her device into her pocket and by the time everyone has congregated in Byron's room, she pauses to listen in on the discussion happening within, before reaching out to rap her knuckles on the doorframe to announce her presence, stepping inside. A flash of a smile at Ruiz, though there's a surprised lifting of her brow. She didn't hear a doorbell or anything - that's suggestive enough of a few things. To Erin, who's closer to her and further from the bed, she lowers her voice to murmur. "You're a lifesaver, thanks for looking after him," she tells her quietly.

"Hey, hey.." Erin's greeting to Ruiz is almost cut short when Byron looks to be trying to get up and out of bed. Over the festival! "Things go on, Byron, as a matter of fact it's already pretty late in the night. Nothing will burn down or fall apart if you're not there to tend to it. You're going to make yourself an old man, all overworked and stressed out." She remains standing nearby Ruiz and listening to the softly spoken words.. "You've got friends worried about you." The words are to Byron before she smiles at Isabella, touching her arm briefly. "Of course. We're all friends here." She remains back by Ruiz though, perhaps having missed the softly spoken words.

Byron is only now wondering why he's at Erin's house instead of one of the festival staff tents. The confusions is clear as day on his features, especially when his dark eyes look from face to face. Why was everyone here? "Did I... collapse onstage?" There were so many worried faces looking at him right now and even Erin mentioned his worried friends. "I remember..." There's a crease at his brow now, "I remember finishing my speech when I noticed that an unscheduled," Was it really unscheduled? There's a pause when he tries to remember, "performance was just setting up. I turned to look at my assistants, to find out if they heard anything about it and that's when I felt...a pinch?" A prick. "And they led me off the stage."

From what he can tell, Lilith was nowhere in sight, but he's definitely looking. To Alexander's question, he has to think on his response, "Confused. A little dizzy."

Alexander offers an arm to Isabella when she appears in the bedroom, and if accepted, gives her a brief hug and kiss on the temple, although he seems too nervy and tense to hold it for long. At least he hasn't started pacing in Erin's bedroom, yet? Instead, he's just staring at Byron. "You didn't collapse on stage," he assures the man. "Most of the festival goers noticed nothing amiss." That might be stretching it, but he's trying to be reassuring before the next bit. "You were drugged and kidnapped. By Amelia, and," he sighs, "helpers. Not sure if they were human or not. We got you back." A sidelong look to Ruiz. "Uh. Captain, what did we end up doing with Amelia?" Because he genuinely doesn't remember.

"A pinch?" Javier repeats, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards Byron thoughtfully. "Do you remember who else was there?" He studiously doesn't comment on Erin's remark about overworking and old men. Because if she's trying to hint at something, he's not giving her the satisfaction. His attention shifts to Alexander at his question, and he hitches his chin in the direction of.. well, it could be anything, really. "Cooling her heels at the precinct. She'll probably be out by tomorrow unless we can slap some charges on her."

"Why didn't you tell us it was you?" Is her next quiet, but direct query, Isabella furrowing her brows at her fellow brunette, brushing her fingers lightly over her knuckles when she touches her arm and gives her fingers a warm and concerned squeeze. Keen, incisive, perceptive eyes fall on the other woman's face, her voice lowering further. "I mean, your costume was amazing but you didn't say...is everything okay?"

Her attention lingers on the Addington heiress while the others speak, though when Alexander's approaching shadow crosses over their own, it diverts sideways, body fitting into the sling his arm provides, face tilted to his temple-kiss. There's a smile as brief as that effortlessly affectionate token, but what Byron says has her frowning. "Sounds like a needle," she offers quietly. "They took you and brought you back to your old house and they were trying to do something to you when we got there, but none of us could parse the chanting."

Heiress no more, if she ever was. Disowned by her family, she's all on her own now! Erin remains standing where she is and meeting Isabella's gaze as hers lingers with her. Finally, she doesn't hold it and she lowers her own eyes against the almost intrusive look and she laces her fingers together. As soon as her attention is diverted, the Addington walks over and closes her dressing room door for her own reasons before returning to stand nearby Ruiz. Never would she call him old for any reason, and she gives him a sort of vague smile for a moment before refocusing her attention back to Byron and Isabella, grateful for the other woman asking the hard questions and imparting all they had found out.

"Can I get anyone anything to drink?" Finally offering at least that. She'd been a terrible host so far.

See, this was the dangers of a masquerade. Byron can only respond to the Captain's question about who else was there with a slow shake of his head. "You mean besides my assistants? My festival PA is Marla Henridge. I know that she took on the son of a friend of hers to help out with the opening ceremonies." That must have been the kid who was freaked out over the radio, still in costume.

"Kidnapped?" Byron repeats that word, even though he's come to realize that he has no recollection of what had happened to him since he'd left the stage. Then Amelia's name is uttered. "Amelia Birchwood?" You found Amelia Birchwood at," He's trying to piece things together when Isabella brings up his old house, "My family home? Was Marchand there?"

At Erin's offer of drinks, he's quick to say, "I could go for a whiskey... or something stronger." Erin did well to get most of the drugs out of his system, but he's still experiencing some dizziness.

"Public nuisance?" Alexander suggests to Ruiz, with the faintest hint of a smile. "Surely staging a fake human sacrifice has to qualify. Maybe not as much as an actual one, but still." The smile widens briefly into something kinder when he looks over at Erin's offer, but he shakes his head. "I'm fine." His hand trails briefly down Isabella's back as he tells Byron, "Amelia was at the festival. We didn't see Olivia at the house, but what people - maybe people - were there were all masked from head to toe. We didn't stop to unmask any of them. I'd be surprised if she wasn't there."

Ruiz is watching Erin carefully as well. A flick of his eyes here, a furrowing of his brows there. He doesn't say a word, but concern's traced through his expression clear as day to those who know him fairly well. Which is most of the people in this room. Finally, he slides his hand along her back and gives her temple a quick kiss, along with a low murmur of, "Stay. Please. I'll fetch the drinks." Alexander's suggestion gets a wry smile as he ambles for the door.

She's following Erin's wake around the bedroom, though Isabella says nothing further, watching that door close - it'll have to be later. A brief shake of her head at the offer of refreshments. "I'm alright," she tells her. "Please don't fuss, it's-- " And then Ruiz offers to get them instead.

This is around the third or fourth time she's heard Olivia Marchand's name tonight. "Is she the current owner of the house? Who is she?" Dark brows furrow. "Does she like rabbits?"

What?

"I know, weird question, but humor me for ten seconds."

Erin is grateful for something to do and she starts to move off to get the drink and one for herself and Ruiz as the others decline, but she hesitates when Ruiz offers. "Sure, thank you." He knows his way around the kitchen and the sidebar probably better than she does anyway. That leaves her there in her room with the others and she tunes in to the questions Isabella volleys towards Byron and she waits for his answers, a cursory glance around the room, even if brief, before focusing on Byron and Isabella while Ruiz gets the drinks and Alexander supports his lady.

There's a quirk of Thorne's brow now, "Human sacrifice? Is that what the throne was for?" He's confused on whether there was an actual throne or not now. Another look is given the room, before his own dark eyes resettle on Alexander, "Was she wearing a costume like one of my assistants? I remember," He quickly shakes his head in frustration, "I'm not even sure if it happened, but I think I remember hearing the first person to reach me," First person dressed in his assistants' attire, "telling me that everything was fine and that they would make sure to take me somewhere safe."

That's when it dawns on him now and he's giving Alexander this look. "/Who/ found me? At my family's old place?"

He holds the look for a moment longer before he blinks, turning to Isabella now. "She is the current legal owner of the house, yes. But I have no idea if she likes rabbits." A thoughtful pause, "Why?"

"Hell if I know," Alexander mutters, regarding the throne. "Things got a little weird, and there was a fog that made everything...hard to make out." And then he's getting that look from Byron, and his jaw sets, chin coming up as he meets Byron's look square. "Everyone in this room," a brief gesture towards the departing Ruiz to include him, "as well as Sutton and August." A hesitation. "I wasn't sure that I could resolve the issue alone, and they were available and competent."

The rabbit question throws him, as well, and he gives Isabella a sidelong look, shaking his head a little; he has no idea of Marchand's opinion of rabbits, but he's clearly curious about the relevance.

The pointed looks aren't missed. "I'll be discreet," Isabella assures her friend - but she only speaks for herself, meeting Byron's eyes on the bed and then Alexander's sidelong glance. She lifts her fingers to rub the tips of them against her shuttered eyelids for a second or two; the break is necessary though the gesture is familiar to both men at the very least - it's what she does when it's a long day, and she's still trying to think.

When she finally continues, she releases a breath. "I don't think the House is going to stop trying to lure you back in," she tells the entrepreneur. "Someone was watching us leave - she had a rabbit mask on, but she was definitely female. I couldn't see her face. What does she look like?"

Erin settles down on the settee for now and listens. But while she listens, exhaustion overtakes her and without realizing it, her eyes drift closed. Almost absently, she tugs the throw from the arm of it over herself to ward off any chill. Again, her eyes open and she looks at Byron then Isabella, curious about bunnies also.

There's this tense set of Byron's jaw when told that everyone in this room and then some visited the Thorne House. "What did you all find there?" He's asking this of Alexander, apparently, since he's looking in the man's direction. Sorting through the individuals in his mind, he knows which ones are mentalists, though Sutton and August are mentioned and he gives off this exasperated look. Strangers.

He tries not to narrow his eyes when it's Isabella who brings up how this House was trying to lure him back. Taking a much needed deep calming breath, he comes out and says what Alexander is used to by now, "There's no need for any of you to concern yourself with that." Though there's a curious look now when Reede reveals that the group was being watched. "Someone wearing a rabbit mask..." Staring out at nothing in particular, Thorne looks to be contemplating on this news. "Marchand? She has dark hair, fair skin. She lived in town her whole life." His gaze lifts, "Do you think it was her?"

"Creepy people with masks, and a whole lot of fog. I warned them the house was haunted," Alexander says. He'll take on that particular blame, it seems, but not mention the whole 'zombie of Stephen Thorne' thing. Mostly because he didn't see it.

He also doesn't argue with the familiar refrain of Byron shutting people out. "I think it was probably her," he says, although he considers Isabella thoughtfully. "Did she seem to be limping or having any sort of support for moving at all?"

Dark hair, fair skin.

"Blue eyes?" the archaeologist wonders, meeting Byron's darker ones.

After a moment, she lowers her fingers to rest against her skirt, to retrieve her phone again. Tension coils down her spine, though this is subtler than anything else about her this evening. Her skin comes alive with it, pushing against the light touch of Alexander's fingers. "It's happening, anyway," Isabella points out to him regarding everyone else's concern. "They took you, Ronnie, and I don't think they're going to stop trying."

Alexander's thoughtful look has her gaze lifting to his dark eyes and profile, and she shakes her head once. "She didn't look encumbered when she walked back into the mist. Was Olivia Marchand's infirmity something temporary? Sprained ankle or...?" Because she could have gotten better, is what she's implying.

It surprises Byron when Alexander brings up that there were people at his the old house. Not just Marchand. Since all of this seems so odd and strange, he'll ask outright, "Do you think you... we. Do you think that we were all pulled into a dream? That would explains the masked figures at the house."

Patting himself down, he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, unlocking it with a thumb print, before scrolling through his messages. There were several received from the festival staff and a few from Sutton of all people and strangely, there were so many of them. If he wasn't responding to his phone in the first place-- He checks the timestamps on each message, before realizing how bizarre some of these messages were. Not the ones asking if he were dead, because that's a normal thing to text... to a FRIEND. As a joke. There's only a small bit of creasing to his brow.

No messages from Lilith though, so he decides to send one to her. "Lilith wasn't with you?" He asks, eyes lifting from his phone after pressing send to look from Alexander to Isabella.

"Dark hair, fair skin, blue eyes. Yes. I mean, weirdly." He murmurs, since he was just talking about her, "They look like they could be related... to Lilith. To each other, I don't know." He then meets Isabella's gaze straight on, not looking happy about her response, knowing full well that once some of these people get going, they'll dig further into his business. He looks like he has a lot to say, but he's keeping silent for now.

"Marchand had a stroke. That's all that I know." Slowly, but unsteadily, he rises to stand. He has to think back on what was said and it makes him uneasy to realize that so many people went to his old house, coming to his aid. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Taking a quiet swallow, he says, "Thanks. Let everyone know that I'm grateful for their help and that everything is fine." He then has to admit, "I don't know what would've happened if you didn't show up. Right now, I need to reach Lilith. I hadn't heard from her since last night. She was supposed to meet me at Addington Park tonight. So I was hoping that you'd all have run into her."

That's a very good question. A glance at Alexander before Isabella responds. "It's definitely possible - but if it was a Dream, I've never experienced anything like it before. Masked figures that show up in the Park, take you, then bring you back to your house on Oak? How many kilometers is that from Point A to Point B?"

She watches Byron take out his phone and look through his messages, a small smile suddenly manifesting. "Your old house was dark," she tells him. "And we were having difficulty tracking you through that and the fog. Sutton kept pinging your phone to alert us as to where you were when we finally got there, it was pretty clever, actually." She doesn't know what the content of those messages were, however, and the consternation present in the investor's features draws a more curious look.

Not important at the moment.

Byron's confirmation on Olivia's eye color has her jaw setting faintly. "Who, Olivia Marchand and Lilith?" The theory she had been nursing after being in the same vicinity as Amelia Birchwood changes slightly. "When I saw Amelia's face, I thought maybe she orchestrated all of this," she confesses. "I thought you had a prior relationship with her because she looked like Lil and she was just mad at getting replaced and that was how the House exerted its influence - through that desire." Crimes of passion. She and Alexander had talked about them, briefly, on their way to Seattle. "But if Olivia Marchand also looks like Lil, I don't think that's the case anymore. That doesn't exactly derail the idea - and really, it only strengthens it - that the House is trying to lure you back in to the extent that it's even baiting its trap with people that look like Lilith to entice you to return and stay." Which is, honestly? Creepy as all hell and Isabella's features twist in a visible grimace.

The straight on stare has her shaking her head. She promised to be discreet; and while she can't say the same for the others, she doesn't intend to pry into the history of the house - hopefully they won't have to just to figure out how to break its enthrallment over the people it's already claimed, and stop it from trying to expose Byron to further danger.

"I think that probably also means that you shouldn't let Lilith go anywhere near that house - I mean, I'm not sure if I'm right but I think we should keep that in mind, just to be safe," she murmurs. "I've been texting her the moment we realized you were missing, but they weren't just unanswered. They were unread. I was actually thinking of going out there tonight to try and look for her once we've assured ourselves that you were going to be fine. I think everyone knows, B..." Her expression softens. "What's important is that you're alright and we were able to get you back. Now we just have to keep it that way."

"That is pretty clever." Byron will echo in agreement with Isabella about Sutton's tactic on how to locate him in a darkened house. Despite not wanting to think about the house and for others to pry further into his past, he still comes out and asks, "Where were they keeping me anyway?"

Despite not hearing an alert telling him that he received a message, he can't help but check his phone just in case Lilith responds to the one he just sent. Then what Olivia theorizes draws his full attention, "Amelia Birchwood is around your age. Though I think she left town pretty early, so it was weird seeing her back." Though when Isabella is discussing relationships, he openly admits, "I had a fling with Olivia Marchand when I first got back into town. It didn't last." He clears that up at least. However, when she points out that the women drawn to the House look similarly to Lilith, it's something he has to think on, "Marchand bought the house way before I returned home. By several years. " He won't deny that they all look similarly. He'd even just mentioned it.

There's a slow nod when told not to let Lilith anywhere near the place, but when she says the words 'I think everyone knows, B...', his mind can't help but wonder now. What does everyone know?. It's something very uncomfortable for him to think about, but as they aren't alone here, there is no way that he's opening that can of worms up. So for now, he dismisses it. "I have a festival to run. I'll make sure to have more security detail on me. Right now though, I don't want to think about that House at all."

"The back porch," Isabella says after sorting through her long, exhausted memories. "It was dark, though. I don't know what they intended to do with you but there was chanting."

Her age, he says, and a bit of amusement creeps into her face. "Like you're that much older than me," she tells him - by a single year. But that bit of levity fades away when he discusses his past relationship with Olivia, as well as the timeline that he presents. Brows draw down. "Was she persistent in keeping in touch with you after she bought the house and after you came back?" she wonders.

She seems fine with and is, in fact, willing to respect Byron's wishes on the matter, though she catches the wondering look - things to table until after the festival and they were due a conversation, anyway. "I think that's fine," she tells him. "You're very busy, this has been your baby the last few months. Might be enough to stay away from said house. If you're going to look for Lil, keep us posted?"

"Why would they take me there instead of..." Byron murmurs to himself, this tinge of nervousness in his tone before he's even able to finish the sentence. "my room." He won't say anything more about why his room, but it's definitely something to ponder.

After Lilith, he's sending a message to Frank, his head of security, so that he doesn't just mention this security detail , but one actually comes into play. "I heard nothing from Marchand when I was living in California, but there was mutual interest once I returned home." His lips form a tight line before he adds, "And she had been very persistent over those three years after I stopped seeing her." He then nods quickly, reaching for his lion mask and cape. "Bella, thanks again. And I will." Keep her posted about Lilith. The first thing that he needs to do is to find her.